Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (3 page)

So she stepped to the edge of the crowd and murmured “Excuse me” into the ear of the best-looking guy.

He turned to her, a grin on his face as though ready to say something rowdy. Then he flushed and stepped aside. “Sorry! Hey, guys, get out of the way.”

A few of his friends gave him annoyed looks, then they too sobered quickly and made way for her. It was humiliating but convenient, so she thanked them and continued into the ballroom, where the true scope of the problem presented itself.

There must have been four hundred people, most of them muscle-bound men, crammed into the space. Hotel staffers were hurriedly removing chairs to make standing room, and a skinny manager type was making pleading sounds into a microphone in front of a curtained dais, asking everyone to settle down.

Rachel’s heart ached for Erica. Then she felt a glimmer of hope as Beth Spurling’s sexy husband Jason—a cornerback for the San Diego Chargers, and a major stud—took the mic away from the hotel guy and literally growled at the crowd.

They settled down quickly, as though translating—and fearing—the guttural sound.

Jason eyed them grimly. “The bride says you can stay, even though
I
want to throw you out on your effing asses. So listen up. If you didn’t receive an invitation printed on fancy paper, do
not
touch those party favor bags. And keep the noise down until I say otherwise. Then we’ll open the bar and you can party. But trust me, I’m ready to rumble. So just give me a reason.”

He glanced offstage as though listening to further instructions. Then he muttered, “Oh, right. I’m supposed to thank you for coming. So thanks. And keep it down, will ya?”

Rachel laughed proudly. What a hero. She had always liked Beth’s husband, and had imagined his brother—the groom—would look and sound like him. Not a bad package, all in all.

Still, she regretted arriving so late. No goody bag for her, apparently. Not that she needed a bottle opener. And she could duplicate the rest of the items by buying an orange and replaying the Super Bowl on her DVR. Her biggest challenge at this point was finding a good vantage point for the ceremony.

She could use her superpower to get closer to the front, but what would be the point? These football players were giants, so she’d need to sit in the first or second row and would end up with the bride and groom’s families and close friends, which wouldn’t feel right.

Better to try for high ground, so she threaded her way to a low wall that separated the ballroom from a lush atrium, which had apparently also been reserved for the wedding, probably as a place of retreat, but was now functioning as spillover. If she took off her shoes and chose a spot in the shadows, she could climb onto the wall and watch. It wasn’t ideal, but why should it be? It wasn’t
her
wedding, was it? This was Erica McCall’s day, and as long as it went perfectly for her, and Rachel caught a decent glimpse of it, she’d be satisfied.

• • •

She had barely found the perfect vantage point when a small orchestra to the side of the dais began playing Wagner’s “Wedding March.” And even though there was no bridal procession per se, it stirred the right juices. Then as Rachel watched in rapt anticipation, the huge satin drapery was pulled back and the perfectly arranged tableau was revealed.

Everyone in the audience, including the most drunken of the athletes, gasped. And so did Rachel.

The prospective bride and groom dominated the center in their traditional, resplendent clothing. Dark-haired Johnny Spurling was at least as hunky as his brother Jason, not that it mattered. It was the look on his face as he gazed down at his bride that made him a keeper in Rachel’s eyes.

Behind Johnny, and to his left, were the two best men. Sean looked awesome. No surprise there. Still, Rachel melted. With his fair hair and handsome face, he should have stolen the show. And in a way he did, but so did the
other
best man, who was a completely different kind of hot. Six full inches taller, infinitely broader, lean and ripped, the guy looked like Thor reborn. Long brown hair streaked with bronze. The face of a barbarian. The build of a gladiator.

And yet because both best men were wearing tuxedos, and so attentive to the bride and groom, they meshed perfectly.

They’re best friends,
Rachel reminded herself.
Sean, Johnny and this Bannerman guy.

And they were more than that, as she had learned during the Super Bowl. This was the vaunted “Triple Threat” of the Portland Lancers. Johnny as the quarterback. Sean as the kicker with the boot of gold. And Bannerman, who played some other position that apparently mattered too.

To the right of the couple and slightly behind the bride were the two maids of honor, one blonde, one brunette, both gowned in off-the-shoulder garnet-toned satin that coordinated perfectly with the red roses in Erica’s bouquet. On the edge of the tableau were threesomes in the best sense of the word, each composed of a pretty woman flanked by two handsome men.

Erica’s a genius,
Rachel decided reverently.
Two ushers to every bridesmaid? That should be the law.

One of the bridesmaids was Beth Spurling, Rachel’s friend and former colleague at the grade school where she worked. Beth was short, dark-haired and curvy. Dressed as now in dark red satin, she was actually stunning. Husband Jason in his tux was on her left, a distinguished-looking man on her right. Rachel couldn’t tear her gaze away long enough to check the cheat sheet in her purse, but she had a feeling this was a sports agent named Murphy.

Rachel knew the other bridesmaid too, although only as an acquaintance. Sophie James was the groom’s cousin, and there was a real danger she might steal the show with her confident smile and sexy shape. Her boyfriend, whom Rachel had met once and immediately lusted over, was Jake Dublin, a football coach. Hilarious, sweet, and dangerously subversive. On Sophie’s other side was a good-looking college-aged boy with dark hair. Even if Rachel hadn’t known that the bride’s brother would be in the wedding party, she would have recognized this kid as a McCall.

And then there was
the
McCall. The bride. One could admire the entire entourage and scan its constituent elements, but the eye was always drawn back to Erica. Whether by design—she was an advertising professional, after all—or just the sheer force of her happiness, it didn’t matter. She was the focal point, not just visually but emotionally.

The woman was stunning, with long dark curls swept up and pinned behind her head. Her white satin gown, made even more luscious by the deep red of her bouquet, was both strapless and plunging at the neckline, revealing beautiful shoulders and full breasts. Diamonds adorned her neck, her hair, her wrist, her earlobes and presumably her ring finger.

But it was the expression on her face as she gazed up at her future husband that stole the show. Not reverence. Not even hope. It was the promise of fun everlasting. Of adventures and lovemaking and excitement. He was the only person in her world at that moment, and from the answering look on his spellbound face, he knew it.

“I am stealing every part of this,” Rachel whispered to Erica through her tears. “It’s just too beautiful. I
have
to have it. Of course, I’ll have to find a husband first, but wow.” She sniffled into a tissue, then strained to catch Sean’s eye, praying for a miracle.

Maybe he’d be inspired to find a bride of his own and they could try again. There was that little spark between them, wasn’t there? Couldn’t they work with that?

There was only one problem, she noted with amused distress. Sean did indeed have a love-struck look on his face. Unfortunately, he wasn’t directing it at his date.

He was looking at the bride.

• • •

Despite the crowds, Rachel managed to mingle a bit after the ceremony, first by infiltrating a friendly group composed of three couples: Erica’s boss and his wife, their beer client and his wife, and an art history professor and her husband. Predictably they sang the bride’s praises and told charming stories about her. Then they insisted Rachel tell them something about herself, so she launched into her favorite subject—her current crop of kindergarten students and the exciting new program her school was spearheading that provided more field trips and supplies in exchange for in-depth evaluations each quarter.

Sean stopped by for a few minutes, mostly to apologize and make sure she had a plate of hors d’oeuvres from the mobbed buffet table. He complained that Beth was running him ragged, but he’d get away soon and pay Rachel the attention she deserved. She was barely able to reassure him before he disappeared again.

After that, a brash woman approached her to compliment her dress, but it was only a ploy to lure her into another conversation group. And this time, it was more like a school of sharks. The woman and two male colleagues were sports agents and the other two guys were sports reporters. All they could talk about was the latest NFL scandal, which revolved around a revered coach who had been hiding a gambling problem and who had apparently profited from betting on his team’s games. Rachel tried to slip away, but they insisted on hearing her opinion, which they then trashed, assuring her that yes, gambling might be an addiction, but
no,
there was no reason to cut this guy any slack despite her “bleeding heart” attitudes. He should be drummed out of the league. Tarred and feathered at a minimum.

She was about to assure them she didn’t actually care, since she wasn’t a member of the Church of Football, when Jason Spurling dragged her away from them by her elbow without bothering to make an excuse.

“How did you get stuck with those vultures?” he demanded.

“Good question.” She gave his brawny arm a squeeze. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“I like being seen with the most beautiful girl in the room. Just don’t tell my new sister-in-law I called you that.”

“Or your wife,” Rachel reminded him, arching an eyebrow in pretend disapproval.

Jason laughed. “She knows how hot she is. We’ve been fighting about it all day. I keep trying to nail her, but all she wants to do is yell at waiters.”

“You two are too much,” Rachel said fondly. She wasn’t quite sure how the Spurlings survived their constant bickering, but somehow they did, producing a gang of darling, if hedonistic, children, none of whom Rachel had spotted yet that evening. So she asked, “Where are the kids? I want to spend time with them.”

“Save yourself,” he drawled. “They’ve been drinking soda since six a.m. so they’re full-on animals. We locked them in a room with a bunch of video games and two paid assassins—I mean, babysitters.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

As much as she loved those children, she suspected Jason was right. They’d get chocolate on her new dress, or draw pictures on her neck with indelible ink, or cut her hair when she wasn’t looking, all of which had happened in the recent past.

“A few normal kids are in the room with them,” Jason added with a chuckle, “and they’re terrified, God help them.”

She started to reply but realized his attention had shifted to something in the distance, so she turned too, just in time to see a huge, bearded guy drinking straight from the champagne fountain.

“Oh,
no
.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna wish he was never born. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t be silly. Save the champagne, then go back to the wedding party. I’ve made some friends so I’ll be fine.”

He seemed torn between his duties as bouncer and loyalty to her. “John and Erica don’t dare mingle. And dancing is out of the question. So you should join us up front. You know Sophie and Dub, right? And you’ll get more time with Decker that way.”

“I’m good. Just kick some ass.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I forgot to mention how handsome you look in your tux. Don’t get blood on it.”

“Thanks, beautiful. I’ll check on you later.”

She watched as he powered through the crowd, grabbed the offender by the back of the collar, and dragged him toward the exit amid bursts of applause.

What a hunk.

Still, her heart went out to Erica. She had planned the perfect wedding.

But instead she gets a brawl.

The idea of joining another group of strangers depressed her, so she sought out one of the portable bars situated around the ballroom. She didn’t usually drink, even at weddings, except for a sip of champagne during the toasts, but she would make an exception for this particular event. For one thing, the champagne might have whiskers in it, so a cocktail seemed safer. She would order something fancy, take it to her room, and watch TV. If Sean wanted to spend time with her, naked or otherwise, he knew where to find her.

Then she spotted a reason to stay. Tall, well-built, sinfully sweet, and the most dreamy sight of the day.

The wedding cake.

Drenched in white frosting dotted with tiny silver balls and dusted with coconut, the seven-tiered monument had been wheeled out on a huge silver cart and was guarded by four waiters. Lucky thing too, because she suddenly sympathized with the bearded man in the fountain. He had craved a drink, and she totally needed a piece of
this.

So she ordered a cosmopolitan, then hung around the bar for a few minutes, quietly aware of the men in the room. There were so many studs, probably because so many of the guests were professional athletes. Some of them were definitely checking her out. And why not? The ratio of males to females at this wedding was at least two to one.

Not that it mattered.

Guys didn’t hit on her. Not ever. Her few romantic relationships had started as friendships, usually because work or school threw them together and eventually the guy—or more likely Rachel—made a move; or because a friend set them up and coaxed them through those first awkward moments when he wanted to run screaming from the building.

Case in point? A few yards away, three lonely-looking men were clustered together, eyeing her without making a move in her direction. She was tempted to walk up to the cutest one and proposition him.